


we can light a match

by ifonly13



Category: Absentia (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25670023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifonly13/pseuds/ifonly13
Summary: The darkness makes them brave with each other.
Relationships: Emily Byrne/Cal Isaac
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	we can light a match

The darkness makes the brave with each other.

“Mmm, and this one?”

His fingers trace the long scar over her scapula, calluses catching on the uneven skin.

She rolls to her side, turning her head to watch as he circles the spot in question. “Tripped in Hogan’s Alley,” she huffs on a laugh. “Needed eleven stitches.” Her left arm slides under her head, tangled hair snagging as she reaches out with her right hand. “This one.” Not a question as she touches a jagged circle on his thigh.

He sighs, leaning back into the side of the bunk. “Insurgent during my second tour. We were clearing a house and he pulled a knife on me.”

She feels his breath stutter when she presses her lips to the firm muscle underneath that knife scar, his hand falling heavy onto her head. She can tell that he’s fighting the urge to wrap her hair around his fist and move her just a few inches past that scar. Instead, his fingers comb through the strands as he slips down in the bunk.

“Why the FBI?”

“Hmm?”

He shifts, his knee bumping hers under the thin sheet. “Why’d you join?”

“To meet guys,” she whispers with a smirk. She gasps when he presses his mouth against that cocky grin, his hips shoving hers so he rests over her.

“Really.”

She angles her chin up, her lips brushing his jaw. “I’m competitive” - his gruff laughter tickles her forehead - “and they’re the best in the country.” She sighs, her thumb smoothing over his eyebrow. “At least, they were.” With their legs tangled, she easily flips them with her right knee drawn up along his ribs, her hair falling around their heads like a curtain. His hands frame her face to pull her down into a rough kiss, swallowing her moan as he pushes up into her. “What about you, Lieutenant Commander?” she whispers, forehead resting against his as he thrusts lazily. “Why’d you join?”

He pauses at the recitation of his rank, waiting until her eyes flutter open to meet his. “You read my file.”

“Told you,” she murmurs, twisting her hips down onto his so he groans. “I don’t work with people I don’t trust.”

“I needed to know I was making a real difference,” he says, head back against the pillow so he can watch her, their bodies still. “You can never really tell in the military.”

“And why Boston?”

He shoves up onto his elbows, body spinning hers onto her back once more. “Red Sox fan,” he answers with a grin before his hips snap into hers hard enough for her breath to gasp out, her toes curling into the back of his knees.

Her body arches up, yearning for release, on the edge of desperation until he grabs her hands from his shoulders. Their fingers lace over her head, pressing her back into the mattress.

“Look at me,” he growls against her cheek, his own voice strained. “Fuck, Em, open your eyes.”

Just as her lashes flutter open, he shoves a knee out further, stretching her legs wider apart, and holds her gaze as she falls apart with a choked sob. Her body writhes, pushing up against his weight but his fingers tighten around hers and keep her grounded to the mattress as she gulps in air. The pressed and his mouth coasting lightly over the slope of her breast gentle her.

She slides her hands out from under his, her fingers tunneling through his hair. “Favorite drink,” she asks, voice soft and raw as she speaks into his temple.

“Whisky,” he murmurs, lips and bread tickling her chest. “On the rocks.” He looks up, finds her gazing down at him until he shoves up to catch her mouth. “We need to get dressed. Gotta leave before we reach the station.”

She groans, rolling with him until her feet hit the floor. He nudges her backpack toward her a moment before he leans forward to dig into his own. They move around each other in silence, dressing in dark clothing knowing what tomorrow will bring.

He flops back onto the mattress but doesn’t seem surprised when she crawls over him to squeeze between his body and the back of the bunk, her chest tight against his side. Her lips rest against that tattoo of a crescent moon bisected by a sword, a sleepy kiss.

The last thing she hears as she drops into unconsciousness is a whispered, “Night, Byrne.”


End file.
